


The C-Team

by ItsaVikingThing



Series: Icon [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Gen, Humour, Mikey takes things very seriously, ridiculous names, superhero au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 12:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18261020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsaVikingThing/pseuds/ItsaVikingThing
Summary: They call themselves the C-Team, mainly because it annoys Justice Bat.Justice Bat, Trick Bag and Critical Miss might not be great heroes, or good heroes, or even altogether competent heroes, but they're out there trying to make a difference. And if there's a bank robbery going down and no one else is close enough to respond, the C-Team is just going to have to rise to the occasion...A prologue to a forthcoming Chasefield superhero AU fic!





	The C-Team

**Author's Note:**

> Ah. Yes. Okay...so I'm writing a Chasefield superhero AU fic called Icon and, um, I accidentally wrote this whole short fic about characters who will not be the main focus of the main fic. 
> 
> But I like it, so I'm posting it, so there.

They call themselves the C-Team, mainly because it annoys Justice Bat. 

Trick Bag knows the name annoys Justice Bat as much as it does mostly because it’s _accurate_. Not only are they inexperienced, the fact is that none of them are superhuman powerhouses like Neon Knight or the Singing Telepath. Even compared to other young heroes, none of Trick Bag’s team comes close to the abilities of Paramount, or Golden Kitsune. The C-Team has talents that are on the...quirkier end of the scale.

Which is why Trick Bag currently feels so nervous. Thanks to the police scanner Critical Miss sourced off of eBay, the C-Team are about to pit their not-so-super skills against a team of armed bank robbers. Trick Bag felt elated thanks to the adrenaline rush that came in the wake of learning that not only was a bank robbery in progress, but that their team was much closer than the police or any of the licensed heroes in the vicinity.

But now the adrenaline is gone, leaving Trick Bag crouched down outside the bank, rummaging through his bag of tricks for something useful. He’s aware of each and every second that he wastes, but he’s having a hard time focusing on his job because words like ‘hostages,’ ‘guns,’ and ‘preventable tragedy’ keep floating through his mind.

“Hey, Pack Rat!” Justice Bat hisses. She pokes him in the back with the tip of her baseball bat. “Can you get the door open or not?”

Trick Bag winces. He’s crouched by the wall to one side of the bank’s double doors. He’d rather have Critical Miss watching his back right now, but she’s dealing with the getaway van. Justice Bat is a friend, but not in any kind of stressful situation that involves patience.

Justice Bat could probably smash her way into the bank without Trick Bag’s help. The robbers have wrapped a chain around the door handles inside the bank and locked it in place with a padlock, but that wouldn’t stop even a mildly cranky Justice Bat for long. The problem is that while she’s smashing her way in, the robbers will have plenty of opportunity to dig in or start turning hostages into human shields.

That’s a tragedy that they can definitely prevent, so long as Trick Bag can find the right trick.

“My name is _Trick Bag_.” He pauses in his rummaging to glare at Justice Bat. It isn’t much of a glare. His clown mask has slipped down his sweat-slick brow and he can’t see anything properly. “And I can deal with that padlock, but it’ll be easier if you stop bugging me! So no more poking and no more messing up my name!”

Justice Bat scoffs, but she at least refrains from poking him again.

Critical Miss jogs towards them with the blithe certainty that any lookout glancing out the windows will glance out at exactly the wrong moment to spot her. That’s the fun part of her ability to manipulate chance. The less fun part is that sooner or later, she’ll suffer an equivalent amount of bad luck for every bit of it she inflicts on others.

Usually in her personal life, as far as Trick Bag can tell. He wonders why she even bothers trying to go on dates anymore, after the Burning Hair Incident.

Though it must be said that Critical Miss pulls off a buzz cut surprisingly well.

“All good?” Justice Bat asks when Critical Miss takes up position on the other side of the doorway.

“Their van’s engine just died all of a sudden,” Critical Miss says smugly. “Quite _tragically_ , given all the smoke and grinding noises. And since the driver’s phone went, too, he thought he’d better abandon the van. Maybe he was going to warn his buddies, or maybe he was going after another vehicle, but...he tripped getting out of the van and banged his head hard enough to knock him out. Crazy right? When he wakes up, he’ll find himself cable tied to his steering wheel.”

“Uh...huh. I’d point out that you _could’ve_ just said ‘all good,’ but I like being on your good side, so...cool!”

“Aww! Are _you_ actually scared of _me_?”

“Nooo, because let’s face it, my luck couldn’t get much shittier. I _respect_ you. Now if Magic Sack here could nut up and deal with this chain, maybe we could--”

“It’s _Trick Bag_ ,” Trick Bag hisses. “I always get your name right! Why do you have to--”

“You get my name right on purpose! Don’t think I don’t know it!”

“ _What_?” Trick says, fumbling with his mask so he can see if Justice Bat is serious. Between her hood and the bandanna she’s wearing around the lower half of her face, it’s hard to tell. Her pale blue eyes are angry, but that isn’t much to go on. She’s almost always angry. “In what world is me getting your name right a _bad_ thing, Justice Bat?”

“Because you know I hate my stupid fucking name! And you take every chance to say it!” she growls, her hands tightening on the handle of her bat. “It’s not like anybody’s making any content about us! Why do we even _need_ dumb hero--”

“ _Guys_! Police are inbound, and the robbers in there have got to be wrapping up,” Critical Miss says. “Can we maybe foil them now and argue about names later?”

“Whatever,” Justice Bat grumbles, hefting her bat. “Get me in and this is over.”

Trick Bag sighs. He plunges his hand into his bag again. This time, his hand closes around a particular shape and he grins in triumph. “Got it!”

With what he likes to think is a flourish, he produces a plastic flower and spray bulb from his bag of tricks. He eases the nearest door open as far as the chain will allow with his elbow. It isn’t very far, but it’s just enough for him to aim the flower at the padlock. He squeezes the bulb. A jet of liquid sprays out of the flower, coating the shackle of the padlock in acid.

Trick Bag carefully stows the flower, then digs out a perfectly innocent-looking party popper. He waits. Less than a minute later, the shackle is burned through. The body of the padlock drops to the floor, leaving the chain unsecured. Applying a bit more pressure, he eases the doors open wider, wincing when the chain rattles as it loosens.

Into the gap it affords him, Trick Bag aims the party popper.

He glances at Critical Miss, who looks away and covers her ears. He doesn’t need to look at Justice Bat to know she’s ready. He can feel the restless energy radiating from her, he can feel how eager she is to get moving. He closes his eyes and tugs the string on the party popper. In terms of the noise and light it gives off, it’s something like a flashbang. Just with more paper streamers than conventional police issue grenades typically feature.

Trick Bag hunkers down and covers his head the instant his trick has done its thing. Critical Miss’ powers _should_ guarantee that any robbers guarding the hostages were looking right at the door when the party popper exploded, so he isn’t worried about getting shot at for the time being. Critical Miss will be second through the door, too, to hopefully make sure anyone who _does_ manage to point a gun in a threatening direction finds their weapon jamming.

It’ll be Trick Bag’s job to bring up the rear, look out for the hostages or any unforeseen issues and see if there’s anything in his bag that can help. But right now, all he can do is make himself small because the next minute is all about Justice Bat. He knows from experience that for all the shit she gives him, Justice Bat would never intentionally hurt him. She would--and _has_ \--put herself in harm’s way to protect him. 

It’s just...she needs to let off some steam _right now_ and he doesn’t have time to get out of her way.

The chain around the door handle isn’t much of an obstacle without a padlock holding it in place. It barely slows Justice Bat down. She hits the doors and they burst open, the chain spinning away into the bank. 

Justice Bat follows it, barely shedding momentum from the collision. She screams, “BAT TIME, FUCKERS!”

And then she’s gone.

Trick Bag un-hunches. He tries to ignore the yelling, thudding and crunching noises coming from inside the bank. He glances at Critical Miss. “She hates the name, but she does love shouting that...catchphrase.”

“Mmm…” Critical Miss winces at a particularly loud _crash_. She tugs her grey beanie down into balaclava mode. “I think she just loves shouting. And breaking windows, unfortunately. Maybe we should rename her to something like Angry Bat?"

"It's not very...heroic. Even if it is more accurate."

"Yeah, and she might actually like it, huh? And that wouldn't be any fun at all. Okay, I'm up. Gimme fifteen seconds before you come in. And be careful! If someone shoots you, Drew’ll kill me.”

She throws up her hood and strides into the bank. 

“Seriously?” Trick Bag sighs. “I’m a superhero, but she’s got more respect for my big brother?”

He slow counts to fifteen, then he ventures into the bank. It’s childish, but he’s hoping that the robbers do have some kind of contingency in place, or that some kind of emergency comes up. Something that only he and his bag of tricks can solve.

It seems like there’s little hope of that when he gets inside, though. Not judging by the state of the visible robbers. Three men in suits and masks are down. Two near the hostages still huddled near the counters, one not far from the front door. The one guarding the door had some kind of assault rifle, Trick Bag thinks. It’s hard to tell from the twisted, crumpled mass of metal left behind by a swipe of Justice Bat’s bat.

The fourth robber isn’t down. He’s more sort of...up. Justice Bat appears to have hit him hard enough to put him through a teller’s window and lodge his body five feet off the ground in the sickly yellow drywall the bank’s last decorator favoured.

Justice Bat is nowhere to be seen, which probably means she’s cleaning up the rest of the robbers in the vault. Critical Miss is securing the robbers' wrists and ankles with cable ties, which seems slightly redundant given what Justice Bat did to them, but it never hurts to be cautious.

It’s purely on that basis, and maybe some lingering hope that he can make himself useful, that makes Trick Bag push open the unlocked door to the tellers’ counters and check to see if there’s anyone there.

He doesn’t find any robbers. He finds a bomb.

Trick Bag hasn’t had to deal with many bombs in his life so far. Outside of movies and roleplaying sessions, he hasn’t had to deal with _any_ bombs, in fact. Confronting one now doesn’t feel like a particularly enriching experience.

It’s sitting under one of the tellers’ counters. It consists of several bricks of what he’s fairly sure are plastic explosives with what must be a detonator on top. There are wires, and a vial of silvery liquid, and a timer.

An active timer. Counting down. With less than three minutes on the clock.

“Oh, man…” Trick Bag reaches into his bag and pulls out what looks like--and in this case, is-- a perfectly ordinary asthma inhaler. He applies it to his mouth and inhales. “Guys? We, uh, have a problem! Critical Miss, turn off your jinx before you get over here!”

Seconds later Critical Miss and Justice Bat are at his shoulders, peering at the bomb.

“Huh,” Justice Bat says. “I _thought_ one of the guys in the vault said something about a bomb.”

“Okay!” Trick Bag says, licking his lips. “So we ask him how to disarm--”

“Eh, I smashed him pretty good. He won’t be talking for a while.”

“We don’t have a while,” Critical Miss mutters. “I...if I try to jinx this, it might short the detonator. But...it might just make it explode, too.”

There’s a pause. Then Trick Bag becomes aware of the intense scrutiny he’s suddenly under.

“Huh? I got nothing, guys! I don’t know how to disarm a bomb!”

“Come on!” Justice Bat throws her arms up. “This is exactly the kind of shit you’re supposed to handle, Tool Box!”

“Hey, no! No, it’s okay,” Critical Miss says, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. “We’re not fucking around with a bomb that looks like it could take most of the building down. We need to get these people out of here before it goes off.”

“Y-yeah,” Trick Bag mutters, digging into his bag again. He produces a bottle labelled _Jack Frost’s Iced Tea_. “I think maybe I’ve got something that could slow it down. Get everyone out and I’ll--”

“I think not. I think I’ll be the only one leaving.”

Trick Bag blinks. He looks up to find that one of the hostages has come round behind the counters. A tall, dark-haired man in a rumpled suit. He’s holding a pistol in one hand. In the other…

“Yes,” the man says calmly. “This is a remote detonator. A dead man’s switch, in fact. So taking me down will kills us all. Since none of us want that, I have a different proposal.”

“What do you want?” Justice Bat growls, putting herself between the gun and the rest of the team.

“I want one of you to fetch one of the bags my men filled from the vault. Quickly. Then I’ll walk away. Once I’m clear, I’ll disarm the bomb. I have no desire to _kill_ anyone. But I will, if it’s a choice between that and prison.”

Trick Bag glances at the timer. Less than two minutes to go. “Guys, there’s no time. We have to do what he says!”

It’s not the he trusts this guy to keep his word. But the sooner they get him out, the sooner they can work on getting everyone else out.

“Fine,” growls Justice Bat, tossing her bat aside. She clenches her fists. “You win, asshole. But don’t think this is the end! We’ll find you, and--”

“Fair point. Actually,” the asshole cuts in, rubbing his chin with the back of his hand. The one holding the detonator. The one holding the pistol doesn’t waver. “You aren’t wearing any kind of body armour. So, change of plan! I’ll shoot you and get my own bag!”

He aims at Justice Bat’s chest. His finger tightens on the trigger.

Trick Bag wants to close his eyes, but he’s so scared even his eyelids won’t work properly. They really _are_ C-list heroes, with costumes cobbled together from thrift store clothes, gym gear, masks and spray paint. They really don’t have body armour. Justice Bat is the toughest of them, and she isn’t bullet proof.

And if Critical Miss tries to jinx his shot, she might end up triggering the bomb…

There’s a flash of light which almost blinds Trick Bag. There are a series of bangs. Gunshots.

For a second, he doesn’t feel anything. For another second, he still doesn’t feel shot. He tries blinking and is surprised to find that it works. His eyes recover from the flare to find that he hasn’t been shot. None of his team have.

But the situation has changed.

A woman stands between Trick Bag’s crew and the gunman. A woman clad in a figure-hugging white cocktail dress, white stockings and white gloves. Her hands are raised, clenched into fists. Even looking at the back of her head, Trick Bag knows who she is immediately.

“Paramount…” he whispers. He looks at Critical Miss. “Dude, it’s Para...what are you doing?”

“N-nothing!” Critical Miss was also staring at Paramount. Her balaclava does nothing to hide the fact that she wasn’t focused on Paramount’s blonde pixie cut. Or much of anything above the waist. “Shut up!”

“Oh, shit!” The robber gasps. He raises the pistol.

Paramount opens one fist and a half-dozen crumpled bullets fall to the floor.

“Oh, _shit_...” The robber drops the pistol.

“Fuck, I’m gay...” Critical Miss sighs.

“Uh…” Trick Bag looks at the hole Paramount made in the armoured glass she had to pass through to save their lives by plucking a bunch of bullets out of the air. “Fair enough, yeah.”

The robber licks his lips and raises the detonator. “I still have the bomb, and--”

“I’m aware,” Paramount says, her tone sounding almost...bored. “I’ve been tracking them, trying to find the source. Which isn’t you. Care to tell me where you came by it?”

“If...if I do, will you let me go?”

Paramount sighs. “So, you don’t know anything either. Great! We’re done now.”

There’s a flash of light and suddenly the robber is on the floor, unconscious, and Paramount is holding the detonator. She pauses for a second, some tension apparent in the lines of her body. Then she relaxes. She turns to face them. 

Paramount has been on a meteoric rise on the hero scene since she first started grabbing attention four years ago. She’s been fully licensed the whole time, but during her first six months of activity, she wore a white domino mask. But when she was chosen to help spearhead a new licensing initiative, she ditched the mask and showed her true face to the world.

Her face is really quite beautiful. It’s not surprising that she’s become one of the most photographed heroes in the world. And it’s no accident that when she started posting maskless selfies, her Instagram doubled in less than a week. She has nearly thirty million followers now. Trick Bag knows that Critical Miss is one of them.

Admittedly, he is, too.

Green eyes that Trick Bag has only ever seen on screens before suddenly focus on him. In person, they’re a lot more intense.

Trick Bag tries a winning smile, before he remembers his face is covered in a dumb clown mask.

For a second, Paramount’s eyes seem to narrow. Then she smiles her famously winning smile and sweetly says, “Okay! You...all did _so_ great! Now we just need to stop that bomb!”

“Can you disarm it?” Trick Bag asks hopefully.

“No.” Paramount shakes her head. “The disarming mechanism is another trigger. Whoever sold these f-uh, these bombs wanted them all to go off. I’ll need to get it out of here.”

“Uh, Miss Paramount?” Trick Bag raises his hand. Paramount’s smile wavers, but returns with greater strength as she nods at him. “Ah, there’s a mercury switch on there. I think if you try to move it--”

“I know. It’ll detonate. I believe I can get it inside the vault before that happens.”

“There’re people in the vault,” Justice Bat rasps. She’s staring intently at Paramount, her arms folded, her foot unconsciously tapping. “Robbers. Unconscious.”

“I see.” Paramount flicks a glance at Justice Bat, then away. “That makes things trickier. But…” She pauses. She tilts her head, considering Trick Bag. “What are you thinking?”

He holds up the bottle of Iced Tea. “I can freeze it. It...might buy you a couple of seconds.”

Paramount smiles. Not her famous, friendly smile. More of a smirk. “Interesting. That should work.”

Trick Bag swells with pride. He pats his bag. “Well, they don’t call me Trick Bag for nothing!”

“Jesus, please stop,” grumbles Justice Bat.

“Oh?” Paramount looks them all over. “And is there a hero license in that bag?”

Trick Bag deflates in the silence that follows.

Paramount nods. “Freeze the bomb. I’ll deal with it. And then I’ll have to come back and deal with you. Am I understood?”

“Y-yes,” Critical Miss says, almost tripping over her own feet as she steps forward. “Um, yes. Of course! We were just trying to...uh, thank you Miss Paramount!”

“It’s just...Paramount. And there are ten seconds on the clock, so…”

Trick Bag winces. He carefully unscrews the bottle, whispers a prayer, and douses the detonator in Iced Tea that is, to all intents and purposes, liquid nitrogen. But tastier, if anyone could survive drinking it.

There’s another flash of light, and Paramount and the bomb are _gone_ , leaving behind a lingering aroma of spent gunpowder and some kind of delicate, floral perfume.

Critical Miss vaults over the counter through the gap left by Paramount and sprints to the nearest window. “Oh my fucking god! Paramount! And she just...yup, she just kicked the bomb into the fucking _sky_! Oh, shit! She’s taking a selfie!”

There’s a dull boom, and the bank shakes. A lump of sickly yellow plaster lands on Trick Bag’s head. “Whoah…”

“Let’s go.” Justice Bat prods him in the chest with her bat. “She’ll be back any second.”

Even Critical Miss doesn’t argue, though there’s a wistful look in her eyes when Justice Bat grabs her and drags her out of the bank. It’s like she’s wondering what might have been if she’d only let Paramount arrest her.

They run a couple of blocks before cutting into an alley and taking off their masks and the more obviously heroic bits of their costumes. They take a second to get their breath back, then they head for Justice Bat’s truck.

No one says anything. Critical Miss still looks wistful. Justice Bat looks pissed for some reason. Trick Bag doesn’t want to bother either of them.

It’s only once they’re inside their rusty mobile command centre that Trick Bag risks speaking. “That was...that was something, huh?”

“Fucking asshole,” Justice Bat spits, clenching the wheel so hard Trick Bag is afraid the plastic will warp.

Critical Miss blinks. “What? You don’t mean Paramount? She saved our asses!”

“I’m surprised you noticed,” Trick Bag says, grinning, “given how busy you were, staring at hers!”

“Shut up, Mikey!” Critical Miss is blushing like she used to in the presence of a crush in high school. “I wasn’t...I was not _staring_!”

“She’ll take all the credit,” Justice Bat snarls. “You think any of those people in that bank will remember us at all? It’ll all be about Paramount! That’s how it works with the big fucking hero stars!”

Trick Bag swallows down the various teases he had lined up. He’s never quite sure how to handle her when Justice Bat gets like this.

Critical Miss, though, just leans across Trick Bag and puts her hand on Justice Bat’s shoulder. She squeezes. “You think any of those fuckers are going to forget bat time?”

Justice Bat snorts, then coughs up a laugh. Her grip on the wheel loosens. “Not likely, no.”

“Well, then. We all knew going into this that we’d never be the ones they tell stories about. But that’s okay, because we get to tell our _own_ story. And we get to save lives doing it.”

“Yeah,” Justice Bat sighs. She turns her head and her lips crook up. “Yeah. We almost fucked up, but we learned a few things. We’ll be better next time.”

“Right!” Trick Bag hopes the relief in his voice isn’t too obvious. “We learned that we need to learn more about bombs! _And_ I think we all learned that my bag of tricks is not to be underestimated!”

“Sure, sure! Good job, Trick Bag!” Justice Bat grins. “But I was honestly thinking that we all learned that Steph _badly_ needs to get laid.”

“What?” Critical Miss recoils, retreating into her own space. “No! I mean...that is untrue, Justice Bat.”

“Uh-huh.” Justice Bat brings the truck to life on her third try. She grins at Trick Bag and stage whispers, “ _Fuck_ , I’m gay…”

“Oh, god...don’t tell me I said that out loud!” Critical Miss reddens. “Oh, _god_! Don’t tell me Paramount heard me say that!”

“Hey, chill! She’s a big celebrity, right? She’s gotta be used to people freaking out around her.” Justice Bat leans across Trick Bag and pats Critical Miss’ knee. “And, shit...even I have to admit the way she zoomed in and stopped those bullets was pretty fucking hot.”

Trick Bag groans. “Am I the only one of us who takes being a hero seriously? Can we please be more respectful of Paramount? And hero names only until we’re off the hero clock!”

“Okay, Mikey. I mean...Trick Bag. Why not patrol some more. It’s not like I can lose my hair again...” Critical Miss sighs. “So, scanner back on?”

“Please,” Trick Bag says. “Because, you know, we may not be the best…”

Critical Miss smiles at him. “But that just means we work harder.”

“Nerds,” Justice Bat says. She puts the truck into gear, looks at them sidelong and grins. “Fuck it. The day’s young. Let’s see what other trouble we can get ourselves into.”

They leave the bank to Paramount and the police. They go looking for their kind of trouble.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Gosh, I do wonder who that mysterious Paramount lady could be?!? Maybe we'll learn more about her in the next fic...
> 
> This was written in a burst of enthusiasm with a grin on my face, so it could definitely be more refined. If you've got thoughts, critical or otherwise, or if you just want to yell at me for leaving poor Steph single again, please do leave a comment!
> 
> Cheers!


End file.
